“It should be pointed out that physical treatment
is but a small part of the picture.”
Big Book Alcoholics of Anonymous; Page 143
Looking around a gallery recently my friend and I were looking at a mosaic picture. We pondered on what we thought of it, and each of us had our own ideas. Then as we chatted a thought popped into my head. Now this doesn’t happen often, so make the most of it.~ Marlene
The mosaic, of course, is made up of lots of tiny tiles, each one seemingly insignificant on it’s own. In fact if you found one in the street, you probably wouldn’t look at it twice, never mind pick it up. Yet together with all the other tiny tiles, pieced together it forms an unusual and beautiful work of art. I don’t expect that all of the tiles are perfect, but together they are whole. Together they appear to be as one in unison with each other.
Then came the second thought (yes, two in one day). Some days for me are pretty awful. I feel sick, or saddened. I turn on the TV and the news is all depressing stuff, and I think, where is HP while all this is happening? A few years ago, I lost my baby and nearly my own life. Where was my HP then? Losing my nephew at age 8 a few years later, I really doubted that any God of anyone’s understanding could help me with a weight problem.
But today I see the wonderful days, the glowing wonderful comforting days that make life worthwhile. Who am I to say that this life I’m living is good or bad? Only HP has the ‘whole mosaic’ picture of Life. Not just my life, but my life touching another life. The events happening in the world – again, only HP sees the whole picture. He has the lid of the jigsaw puzzle with the main picture on it; we only have one piece, just like the tile.
After I lost the baby, HP helped the surgeons to heal me. I certainly didn’t feel worthy; in fact I felt at the time that I wasn’t even good enough to die. Yet HP has stuck by me and has given me so much. I doubt I’ll ever know whose life or lives I may have touched as a result of me being saved, but it doesn’t matter. HP knows. HP cares.
One Day at a Time . . .
I must remember that you and I are one in the eyes of our Creator. Not one of us is less than, or more than each other. Together we are one. Together we watch HP work miracles in our lives. Together, we are perfect as long as we are under HP’s direction. Mind boggling isn’t it?
***********************
Each Day A New Beginning
—Francoise Sagan
Looking for the good in others is good for one's soul. Self-respect, self-love grows each time we openly acknowledge another's admirable qualities. Comparisons we make of ourselves with others, focusing on how we fail to measure up (another woman is prettier, thinner, more intelligent, has a better sense of humor, attracts people, and on and on) is a common experience. And we come away from the comparison feeling generally inadequate and unloving toward the other woman.
It is a spiritual truth that our love for and praise of others will improve our own self-image. It will rub off on us, so-to-speak. An improved self-image diminishes whatever bad qualities one has imagined.
Praise softens. Criticism hardens. We can become all that we want to become. We can draw the love of others to us as we more willingly offer love and praise. We have an opportunity to help one another as we help ourselves grow in the self-love that is so necessary to the successful living of each day.
I will see the good points in others today. And I will give praise.
From Each Day
a New Beginning: Daily Meditations for Women by Karen Casey © 1982,
1991 by Hazelden Foundation.
Food For Thought
Compulsive overeating is a lonely activity. The more we eat, the more we isolate ourselves from other people and the more alienated and different we feel. We need people, but we do not like ourselves, and we fear that others will reject us.
What a relief to find a group of other people with the same problems and feelings! We are accepted, understood, and loved. We find that we are not so different after all.
The OA fellowship exudes a sense of warmth and support. It is a safe place to put aside masks and express honest feelings. There is healing and strength. Meetings and retreats have given many of us a deeper experience of belonging than we have found anywhere else. We are all accepted as we are and where we are in our personal development.
No one tells us what to do in OA. Through the fellowship, we learn what has worked for others and we find relief from our loneliness.
Bless our fellowship, Lord.
From Food for
Thought: Daily Meditations for Overeaters by Elisabeth L. ©1980, 1992
by Hazelden Foundation.
The Language of Letting Go
I was forty-six years old before I finally admitted to myself and someone else that my grandfather always managed to make me feel guilty, angry, and controlled.
—Anonymous
We may love and care about our family very much. Family members may love and care about us. But interacting with some members may be a real trigger to our codependency - sometimes to a deep abyss of shame, rage, anger, guilt, and helplessness.
It can be difficult to achieve detachment, or an emotional level, with certain family members. It can be difficult to separate their issues from ours. It can be difficult to own our power.
Difficult, but not impossible.
The first step is awareness and acceptance - simple acknowledgment, without guilt, of our feelings and thoughts. We do not have to blame our family members. We do not have to blame or shame ourselves. Acceptance is the goal - acceptance and freedom to choose what we want and need to do to take care of ourselves with that person. We can become free of the patterns of the past. We are recovering. Progress is the goal.
Today, Higher Power, help me be patient with myself as I learn how to apply recovery behaviors with family members. Help me strive today for awareness and acceptance.
From The
Language of Letting Go by Melody Beattie ©1990, Hazelden Foundation.
Today's thought from the Hazelden Betty Ford Foundation is:
Good Grief
"The strangest thing happened," said my friend, a lovably neurotic, very obsessive businessman in his mid-forties.
"I was watching one of those afternoon TV talk show. This one was about problem kids. A parent comes on. She talks about how out of control her child is. Then a parenting expert comes on. He does tough love with the kids, like a drill sergeant, screaming and getting in their faces. Then he takes the troubled kids for a week and straightens them out.
"So this nine-year-old boy comes on. He's been a monster. Killing animals in the neighborhood. Driving his mother nuts. The drill sergeant guy gets right up in this kid's face. He's screaming. 'You think you're tough? You're a tough guy?'
"The expert's screaming at the kid. The kid is just standing there. And I'm watching this thinking Maybe this kid is just a bad seed. 'How'd you like me to come home with you for a week? Be in your face like this all the time,' the expert hollered. 'Would you like that?'
"'Yes,' the boy said.
"'What did you say? Yes? You'd like that? Why would you like that?'
"'Because I don't have a dad,'" the kid said. The boy's lip quivered. The expert got silent. The audience went nuts. But that's not the strange thing," my friend said. "Melody, I started crying. Sobbing like a baby. I haven't cried for ten years."
"What do you think that was about?" I asked.
"I realized how much I missed having a dad," he said. "When people asked me, I always said it wasn't important. I didn't know until I saw that show and started crying that you could miss something you never had."
Sometimes we don't know what or whom we're missing.
"How can I stop feeling so blue about being separated from my children?" another friend asked when business had taken him away from home for a month. "You're asking the wrong person," I said, "It has been eleven years since my son died, and I still miss him every day."
Grief. It may strike suddenly, catching our heart by surprise. Or it may pound relentlessly and persistently for years, like ocean waves beating on the shore.
Whether we're conscious of what or whom we're missing, our heart knows. We may never be happy about whom or what we have lost, but it is possible to be happy again.
Grief isn't an abnormal condition. It's nature's way of healing our heart.
Good Grief
"The strangest thing happened," said my friend, a lovably neurotic, very obsessive businessman in his mid-forties.
"I was watching one of those afternoon TV talk show. This one was about problem kids. A parent comes on. She talks about how out of control her child is. Then a parenting expert comes on. He does tough love with the kids, like a drill sergeant, screaming and getting in their faces. Then he takes the troubled kids for a week and straightens them out.
"So this nine-year-old boy comes on. He's been a monster. Killing animals in the neighborhood. Driving his mother nuts. The drill sergeant guy gets right up in this kid's face. He's screaming. 'You think you're tough? You're a tough guy?'
"The expert's screaming at the kid. The kid is just standing there. And I'm watching this thinking Maybe this kid is just a bad seed. 'How'd you like me to come home with you for a week? Be in your face like this all the time,' the expert hollered. 'Would you like that?'
"'Yes,' the boy said.
"'What did you say? Yes? You'd like that? Why would you like that?'
"'Because I don't have a dad,'" the kid said. The boy's lip quivered. The expert got silent. The audience went nuts. But that's not the strange thing," my friend said. "Melody, I started crying. Sobbing like a baby. I haven't cried for ten years."
"What do you think that was about?" I asked.
"I realized how much I missed having a dad," he said. "When people asked me, I always said it wasn't important. I didn't know until I saw that show and started crying that you could miss something you never had."
Sometimes we don't know what or whom we're missing.
"How can I stop feeling so blue about being separated from my children?" another friend asked when business had taken him away from home for a month. "You're asking the wrong person," I said, "It has been eleven years since my son died, and I still miss him every day."
Grief. It may strike suddenly, catching our heart by surprise. Or it may pound relentlessly and persistently for years, like ocean waves beating on the shore.
Whether we're conscious of what or whom we're missing, our heart knows. We may never be happy about whom or what we have lost, but it is possible to be happy again.
Grief isn't an abnormal condition. It's nature's way of healing our heart.
You are reading from the book:
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